


Nuclear Winter: Air

by LothrilZul



Series: Never let them unravel [1]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 3, Fallout 4
Genre: ...I'm still undecided on how I'll handle sexual content sorry, ...it's Winter's coping mechanism, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Canon-typical swearing, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Falling In Love, Fluff, Game Spoilers, Humor, Implied Sexual Content, Memory flashbacks, Pre-war flashbacks, Sarcasm, Slow Build, Slow Burn, in-game events, plot heavy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-19
Updated: 2020-10-19
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:41:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26939794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LothrilZul/pseuds/LothrilZul
Summary: General 'Winter' of the Commonwealth Minuteman tries her damnedest to escape her problems by burying herself into her job, but a chance meeting with the stranded recon team makes it catch up on her again.
Relationships: Paladin Danse/Female Sole Survivor, Sole Survivor/Sole Survivor's Spouse (Fallout)
Series: Never let them unravel [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/832638
Kudos: 3





	Nuclear Winter: Air

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to MrNinjaPineapple for beta'ing this chapter! You are a live-saver, Ry!
> 
> Also shout-out to my fiancé for sparkling the core of the Starlight part. Without you I'd still be strugling with this chapter. Love you, Hon!
> 
>  _"Remember Yesterday  
>  and think about tomorrow  
> But you have to live today  
> Oh, lonely yesterday_
> 
> _Don't leave me with the sorrow  
>  Cause I have to live today"  
> _  
> ~ HammerFall

Winter shut the door of her cabin behind her and headed towards the diner. Her stomach growled at the prospect of some mirelurk omelette; it was its very aroma that woke her up and she hoped there was a plateful of leftovers.

Crossing the cul-de-sac, sunshine filtered through the canopy of the great elm tree and light breeze played softly with the bulbwires hanging from its branches. 

_Perfect weather for travelling, Preston will be pleased._

She brushed her silver locks behind her ear and looked around the cookhouse. Most residents of Sanctuary had finished their breakfasts already. Marcy was doing the dishes but spared a quick glance between two plates to return the greeting. Behind her, Winter was relieved to spot Preston in a diner booth. He was hunched over something, presumably his sketchbook.

Winter grabbed a mug from beside the coffee machine that she had liberated from the Lexington Super Duper Mart, but much to her discontent the pitcher had run dry already. Frowning, she put it back on the hot plate and made her way to Preston.

Winter slid into the booth across him.

“Good morning,” she managed, suppressing a yawn.

“Good morning, General!” he said, shooting her a warm smile. 

He was indeed sketching. A composition of a hubflower, a mutfruit and some ears of razorgrain lay before him. Judging from the progress, he had been at it for a while. 

“Isn’t it a little too early to ‘General’ me, Preston?”

Preston rolled his eyes. A quick check of her Pip-Boy revealed it was well past ten; no wonder the coffee was gone.

“I saved this for you,” Preston said, pulling a hidden-until-now tray out from behind his makeshift still life. Omelette and jerky! And… could it be? A cup of coffee!

“Don’t get your hopes up, it’s cold,” he warned.

“Thank you, you are a Godsend,” Winter pulled the plate in front of her and clutched the mug. “The most important meal of the day. According to my Mom.”

Odds were that she already told him that one before.

Preston chuckled and nodded. He looked down at his sketch, then did a double take.

“You misbuttoned your shirt,” he said with an amused grin and looked back at his work.

“Oh.” He was right. “Then I’ll be lucky today.”

“Isn’t that what happens when you wear it inside out?” he asked pensively as he cross-hatched the shadow on the mutfruit.

“Mood killer,” she murmured under her nose.

“Godsend sounded better,” he glanced up, raising his brows.

“Like you could ever _not_ be.”

Was that a blush on his cheek? Might as well be, Preston was too modest for any praise.

Minutes passed as Winter demolished the omelette and watched Preston draw. His deft hand left quick, precise marks on the paper. She couldn’t have done that, ever, even if her life was at stake.

Preston broke the silence. “I was starting to wonder how long you can slumber, sleepy-head?”

“My alarm clock is broken,” she shrugged.

“Take it over to Sturges before we leave,” he suggested, exchanging his pencil to a piece of charcoal. “He might make something of it.”

“Good idea.”

Preston wore his usual dusters, his trademark hat lay next to him on the table, and his musket was positioned between the table and the seat, muzzle-up. 

_Always on the job, aren’t you?_

Even after half a year in the wastes, Winter still needed a good quarter hour to wake up properly.

Catching Winter’s glance, Preston challenged her, “Are you ready to depart?”

“Do you want the honest or the satisfactory answer?” she said and stuffed in more omelette. It was a mistake, she soon found out.

Preston, somehow, produced a wan smile, but it faded quickly.

“We need that radio, Winter.”

She had to force down the last bite, but her appetite was gone. She dropped her fork on the plate and tossed it aside.

“I know, Preston. I know.”

Winter buried her face in her palms.

Two men, a woman and a little girl would never open their eyes again because she failed them. Winter had been too late to get there. If only they had a radio alert system up and running back then... 

_She was only six._

After a few minutes, she reclaimed her plate and started poking at her food. She needed the nutrition, no matter what her stomach said about it right now.

“Give me an hour.” 

Preston nodded somberly. 

They didn’t speak more. Since Marcy finished already, Winter washed the plate herself, carefully stacking it with the others.

The journey around old Boston which waited for them would be long, so she grabbed some radstag jerky and tatoes from the pantry. She peeled and fried them on a once-discarded oven that had since been retrofitted to work using firewood instead.

Winter stuffed two lunch boxes filled with fries into her bag and went back home to properly gear up. Preston sat down on the porch to wait for her outside. 

Winter straightened her buttoning and equipped her mismatched armor set. Combat, metal or leather armor, it didn’t matter to her as long as they stopped the bullets. She regularly changed the pieces to see if they’d fit her preference more. She found lightweight armor was working better for her, and made sure to darken all the pieces. Winter let her goggles dangle on her neck and put on the grey beret that she had woven with ballistic fiber. 

Lastly, she fished Deliverer from under the pillow and her trusty sniper rifle from under the mattress. She holstered the pistol on her thigh. ‘I really should name this baby,’ she thought as she swung the rifle over her shoulder and fastened the sling.

Running through a mental checklist, she reviewed her gear. Once she was satisfied she had everything, she locked the front door and joined Preston on the porch.

“Just need some stimpaks and RadAway, and we’re set,” she said and locked the porch entrance too. 

Preston hummed and emerged, readying his musket. 

Passing the makeshift Minutemen armory and quasi-headquarters, they packed some ammo and a few cans of purified water. The three industrial grade purifiers provided more than enough.

Winter and Preston entered her former home through the side-door and headed to the former laundry, now repurposed as chem storage. She stashed three stimpaks and two packs of RadAway in her bag and turned around to hand some to Preston as well.

For months, Winter made sure to avoid her old home. It was easier that way. Gradually, it became a taboo for everyone else too.

_This house, it saw me at my best and at my worst._

In the first week out of the Vault, she depleted the contents of her liquor cabinet, and when that ran out, she nosed around the neighborhood for more. Every night, bottle in hand, she curled up on the sofa she had once shared with Nate and cried herself to sleep.

_What would’ve happened if I had enough food, thus never ventured to Concord and hadn’t met Preston?_

She shuddered at the thought.

However, it had recently occurred to Winter that it would be the best choice to start Sanctuary’s clinic. Preparations were in progress, the biggest shortage being the doctor themself. There was a pre-war doctor, who was running three of the clinics in settlements, circling in a weekly schedule, but Winter saw little chance she could include Sanctuary in her travel routine. Nonetheless, it was evident they should keep the medical items already in place.

Preston watched her from the doorway and for a moment, he looked just like Nate. Maybe his posture, or the concerned expression he sported. A moment later, old memories engulfed her.

*

It was a particularly hot summer day in the quiet suburb of Sanctuary Hills. 

Theresa was waving goodbye to Nate’s parents from the porch door, caressing her belly as they got into their Corvega. Caressing her unborn child… her _son_ , she made the mental correction, as it was almost sure by now, had become a habit for her. She didn’t know if he would feel it but it seemed so. The baby moved around a bit and pressed - she guessed - his back flat against her palm.

She was sure the baby was a boy, while Nate seemed to be convinced the opposite. He even painted the crib a light shade of rose. He’d have to repaint it soon. For _him_. Still, she wasn’t sure about the name though. Nate was uncooperative when it came to boy names. He was daydreaming with his cherished names; Amatha and Lisa. 

This was - supposedly - her in-laws last visit before the baby arrived. At least she _hoped_. She loved her father-in-law, and didn’t mind her mother-in-law around either, but she was tired. She really appreciated their help, but the only thing she really needed was some undisturbed sleep.

Whenever she wanted it. And she needed it now.

As their car pulled out, Theresa closed the door and collapsed on the sofa. 

“Would you be so kind as to open the kitchen window? I forgot. Only that one has a bug-screen,” she asked her husband as he entered, since she was already plopped on the couch. It wasn’t as if getting up was an easy chore. “It’s like a smelter in here. You should check the thermostat.”

“Sure thing”, he offered, “anything for Princess Lisa and Her Majesty’s Mothership Theresa.”

Nate was well aware that for a similar joke he would face serious consequences (like being chased around the house until she could smack him several times) from a non-pregnant Theresa. Unfortunately, the current one was unable to do such things so he carefully remained out of arm's reach. 

That’s why she needed a backup plan.

“Oh yeah?” Theresa said while searching for something to throw at Nate. 

She found a red checkered oven mitt. It was a gift from her in-laws, recently unpacked and just laying on the sofa, until now. “Incoming!”

He evaded her airstrike. Damn his military reflexes. For the time being, he would get off cheaply. Perhaps lucky for him, he already picked it up and headed for the laundry. His orderliness was an extenuating circumstance. Hell yeah, he was a good husband. Maybe a little too soft, but a good man. 

*

“General? Winter... are you alright?”

“Yeah, I… I just really shouldn’t come in here anymore,” she croaked and handed him the supplies.

“Looks like it,” he said glumly.

Winter balled her fists to stop them shaking and picked up a can of water just to do something with them. Once she processed what she did, she carefully opened it and took a slow sip.

After a moment of consideration, Preston said, “I hope you find your son.”

Shaun. 

Winter failed him the day the Institute took him from the Vault and she had failed him every day since. She pinched her nose to stop the tears that were about to boil her eyes and wet her face. 

Kellogg had told her - before she nuked him out of existence - that Shaun was alive and well. That Shaun was calling the Institute his home and wasn’t in need of rescue. 

Winter didn’t believe the mercenary at first, but… No matter what she did, no matter where she went, no matter who she talked to, she couldn’t seem to find a way to the Institute, to bring Shaun home.

As weeks and months passed by since Fort Hagen, unease overcame her. Could it be true what Kellogg said? What if Shaun didn’t want to be saved at all? What if he wouldn’t want her back? What if he would never love her? What if-

“Hey.” 

Preston shook her shoulder gently. “Things are tough now, but they'll get better.”

“You think?” she cocked her head, forcing a smile. Winter wanted to believe this pure man.

“I hope. If we stop hoping, what’s left to live for?”

“You’re right. Let’s go.”

Winter stashed her can away in her haversack and coaxed her gear into a comfortable position. She followed Preston out. 

Codsworth was hovering near the driveway, poking a dried shrub by the window as if he was unsure whether it needed to be tended anymore. As soon as he detected their presence, he spun around and floated towards them.

“Top of the morning to you,” he said, gesturing towards his bowler hat. Winter gave it to him only as a joke but the Mr. Handy was sticking with it.

Winter smiled at him. “Hey! How’s your pincer, buddy?”

“Good as new!” He lifted it, poking it in Winter’s direction, spinning the tweezer around its axis and clicking it a few times. “Mr. Sturges is a clever one, mum.”

Winter reached out and held his appendage for a moment. “Glad to hear that!”

“Something I can help you with?” Codsworth asked, narrowing and widening his shutter lids.

Winter almost told him there was nothing but then it occurred to her. “As a matter of fact... If you could bring my alarm clock to Sturges, I’d be grateful, Cods.”

“With pleasure, mum.” Codsworth stirred eagerly, then sunk in the air a bit. “Does this mean you are leaving?”

Winter nodded. “There’s always another fight.”

“I reckon you had different fights back in the days,” he grumbled.

“It’s all the same, Codsworth. Either accusations or bullets, I’m game,” Winter said with a cocky smirk, tapping at Deliverer.

Codsworth made an exasperated circle in the air and turned to Preston.

“Mr. Garvey, please take good care of Miss Winter.” His movements always revealed his mood, the small circles he hovered in clearly indicating his current anxiety.

“Don’t worry, I will,” Preston promised, and pulled his brim down a bit. “Always do.”

“Take care, Codsworth,” Winter said and waved goodbye.

The Mr. Handy leaned forward, narrowing his lids. “Do come back, Mum.”

“Come on Codsworth, I missed one dinner by two centuries, how many times are you going to call me out for it?”

“Good luck Mum. You'll find young Shaun. I know you will,” he said and floated away towards the cul-de-sac.

Preston and Winter watched him for a while. She wished she could share his certitude.

“All right, let’s do this!” Preston cleared his throat. He rolled his shoulder and took point.

It was good travelling with Preston. He was much more famous than her and stole the spotlight. She really didn’t mind it. Also, he was intelligent and a clever conversationalist, tolerating her acerbic humour well.

Sometimes Winter wondered who the actual leader was between the two of them. Sure, she was talking the talk but the plans always came from him. He had the connections. He had the fame. Winter was a newcomer but the people heard of Preston; the Minuteman who smuggled out the Quincy refugees from right under the Gunners’ noses.

As they walked past the memorial statue by the bridge, Preston said, “I’m almost sad to leave this place behind. This place and the Minutemen have a strong bond.”

“Tell me about it,” Winter frowned.

“Eh, sorry. But... it must be more than just coincidence that you lived here...” Preston mused.

“You know, leading a local militia to retake a fortress from a sea monster wasn’t exactly our intention when we moved in…, ” Winter retorted.

“Well, when you phrase it like that, it sounds bizarre,” Preston nodded, “but I believe it was God’s will to lead you to us.”

Winter let out a non-committal hum.

“We may never know. But that won’t stop me from helping if I can.”

Preston clapped her on the shoulder and a smile ignited his features. 

“That’s the spirit, General!”

*

Theresa was glad they were able to move here before their son was born. 

_Maybe we should call him... James? Or is that too dated?_

Nate could make an arrangement for this house with Chief O’Neill in exchange for extra overtime. ‘For you and Amatha, no price is too high’.

The ‘House of Tomorrow’! All the modern amenities one could need! Pompous propaganda.

The house was not a big deal. It was hastily constructed from cheap materials but it had a garden and a separate laundry room, an undeniable improvement over their one bedroom apartment in the Fens. They didn’t have a lot of furniture moving in but were lucky enough to find that the house had lots of built-in cabinets. 

The neighbours were nice and quiet. Well, quieter. Now she didn’t wake up to firetrucks or arguments in the stairwell but to lawnmowers and barking dogs. 

They could finally _pretend_ to live the American Dream. 

Sanctuary Hills was a remedy after the rush-hour Boston where she spent the last few years. This place was suitable to settle down. To raise a kid. Or more than one. She could imagine themselves getting old here. 

Yes, it was good here. It could’ve been better, but it also could’ve been much, much worse.

Theresa was standing in the laundry door, flipping through the manual of the Mister Handy unit Nate’s parents bought that morning. It had been given booting instructions and she was familiarizing herself with the options.

Nate was polishing the dome before flipping the switch for the first time. It came fully assembled.

Theresa wasn’t sure that they really needed the robot but she was willing to give it a try. Who wouldn’t be happy to have someone do the dishes or walk the dog on a rainy day or look after your house while you were away…?

“Are you sure you perused the whole manual meticulously?” Nate asked, rubbing his neck.

“Hush, I’m not about to miss any important detail,” she chided. Therka tapped her finger on a list in the manual, “It says here that we can choose an English accent. But which one? There’s many. Is it posh? Cockney? Not to mention that technically American English is an accent...”

Nate rolled his eyes but the corner of his mouth pulled to a smile.

“So, shall I leave it on default?”

“Yeah. It also says it will develop a personality after it has spent several days with the owner but it can always be rebooted if it gets annoying.”

“Sounds good. Ready?”

Theresa nodded. Nate pushed a button on its back and closed its rear panel with a click. 

It immediately started to hum deeply as its thruster ignited. It ascended to chest height and hovered for a few seconds, then the front panel opened and an eye emerged from its round body.

Nate hugged Therka’s waist and pressed a kiss on her cheek.

The robot immediately noticed them as it looked around.“Good afternoon, Mr. and Mrs…?” the unit started and promptly stopped, as if waiting for input.

“Irwin,” Nate helped it out. “I’m Nathaniel and she’s my wife, Theresa.” 

“Congratulations on your purchase on behalf of General Atomics International and RobCo Industries. Mister Handy, Man’s Best Friend, Reinvented. There is no task too big--”

“Spare me the retail baloney,” Nate grunted.

“Very well, Mr. Irwin!” They were surprised when the second and third eyes came out of their sockets but now three big eyes scanned them restlessly. It was a sight they needed to adjust to. 

“Might I ask you, what will I be called…?”

Theresa hadn’t thought about it yet and judging by Nate’s silence, neither had he. The Mr. Handy scoured them as it waited for input and Nate raised his heavy eyebrows, urging her to say something.

“There’s no name too bad, Mrs. Irwin!”

“Erm, it could be...” she hesitated for a moment, “Codsworth, if you like?” That was the fanciest sounding name she could think of on the spot.

“I like it, Mrs. Irwin.” 

How polite. She was sure that it would have been equally happy if she named it _Benedict Toastington_.

“Please, just call me Mum,” she told him, laughing, “I’ll be a mother soon, after all. I need to get used to it.” The latter statement she meant to herself.

Three irises narrowed and opened as he processed what she said. “I see. As you wish, Mum!”

“Mum?” Nate had a hard time containing his gaiety, but he wanted to get his point across anyway. “Codsworth, please don’t call me _Dad_ , unless it is about my little daughter. _Sir_ , or Nate will do fine.”

“Aye, sir!” Codsworth registered the order.

“You mean your son?” Theresa elbowed him.

Nate shook his head and released Theresa with a grin. “Come, Codsworth, I’ll show you the house. This is the laundry and if you are all right with that, this will be your… erm… station when you don’t need to do anything or… you know, you want to… rest?”

“Yes, I suppose this is the best place for a domestic robot after all,” the robot agreed and quickly looked around in the utility room. It wasn’t hard with three eyes.

“Glad we are on the same page,” Nate said relieved. “Come, um, with me.”

“I’ll lay down a bit,” Theresa said, rubbing her stiffened waist.

On his way out, Nate stole a kiss. “Love you.”

“Love you too, hon,” she smiled back.

As she stepped into the bedroom, Nate called out, “Therka?”

“Hm?”

“I’ll be with you in a minute. I don’t want to waste any moments I could be spending with you.”

“You know where to find me,” she smiled back.

*

Perez nodded in recognition when Winter and Preston passed under his station in the belly of a repurposed NH&M car hoisted atop the kiosk, relying on steel beams on the other end. A shelter from the weather and bullets alike, crowned with an array of machine gun turrets whirring idly.

Winter was relieved to spot a Minuteman flag pinned to its side as well.

“This will make the Institute have second thoughts about attacking Starlight again,” Winter ventured.

“Lightning never strikes twice,” Preston frowned.

“Sticking with your analogy; it would’ve been difficult to set up a lightning rod indoors,” she retorted.

Preston opened his mouth to say something when a holler from the bar stifled him.

“Finally! A sight for sore eyes!” Autumn, the freckle-adorned bartender approached them with a tray. “Good to see you two again, _Minutemen_!”

She proffered them a few bottles of Gwinnetts. 

“The feeling’s mutual,” Winter smiled and took a stout - and an ale for Preston, who tried to wave off the offer. “How are things since… well, last time?”

Autumn rocked her head, considering her answer when a gruff voice cut her off. 

“We’re down a doctor and a weapon seller, and our water purifier is still busted, that’s how.”

“No need to be rude, Sage,” Autumn snapped at him. 

“Hmph. Excuse me, I got places to be,” he barked and strode off. Sage crossed the asphalted area and leaned against the old tool shed adjacent to his patch of mutfruit and corns, shooting them a glare on occasion.

Winter pried the cap off her bottle, sampling the stout. Of course the quality was wasteland-typical but it was still alcohol. She didn’t feel comfortable breaking the silence first.

Neither did Preston, who was scanning the gate area.

“Without you, he wouldn’t be around to complain,” Autumn said quietly after a while.

“Without me, none of you would have been at risk to begin with,” Winter pointed out, casting her eyes down. “That means three people would still be alive, if not for me.”

“No. No no no, it’s not your fault. You couldn’t possibly know that Xavier was a synth,” she said. “Neither of us noticed anything!”

“Yes, but…,” Winter started, but Autumn smacked her in the arm.

“No buts!” She glared her down with an icy gaze but her features quickly softened. “Who knows, if not here, they could’ve died elsewhere too. The wasteland’s tough but here? Here we have a good setup... all thanks to you.”

Winter sighed. “That’s good to hear, really.”

“You should give yourself credit sometimes,” Preston clued in.

Autumn smiled at Winter, nodding avidly.

“He’s right you know. And don’t worry about Sage. He thought he was friends with Xavier, but he’ll come around. You can only take it ‘one day at a time’, huh?”

By now, Publick had made its way to Starlight as well.

“Yeah, something like that,” Winter nodded. 

“He’ll be fine, just give him time. And maybe repair the purifier,” she grinned.

Winter let out a chuckle. “Deal.”

“Anyway, I wanted to talk about the last provision from Abernathy Farm,” Autumn said and gestured for Winter to sit with her. As if waiting for a cue, Preston excused himself to check on the others.

“I don’t want to sound ungrateful,” she said, but we have enough tatoes for this year, and it’s only May yet. We don’t need more."

"I'll see what I can do," Winter nodded shrewdly.

"What we need instead is water, some copper wires...”

Winter carefully logged every item in her Pip-Boy as Autumn went on and on, even the ones she said were less pressing. Winter was grateful for the change of topic, because _these_ were problems she _could_ find a solution for. 

Everything else? She had no idea.

When Preston returned from his patrol, he made a few remarks of his own on future shipments. After recording those as well, Winter emerged.

“We should get going.” Preston said solemnly. “We’ll be back before long but now we need to concentrate on the mission.”

“And what is that?” Autumn asked.

Preston cleared his throat to draw their attention.

"The General and I have an idea and if we can make it work, it will put an end to these attacks.”

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so about this fic.  
> I've been working on and thinking about this story for so long, but I have a hard time translating my thoughts to an enjoyable read. Go ahead -if you dare-, take a look at the older version of this fic and see just how awful it was at first. So now I'm trying to take extra care but it takes goddamn long.
> 
> That being said, this is a long story. Like I don't even know how long it will turn out. It will cover like a year in story? Maybe more?
> 
> Right now I plan to break the story to four volumes, Air, Water, Fire and Earth, respectively. Story-wise, I'll more or less follow through the main quest from 'The Glowing Sea'/'Taking Independence'/'Fire Support' to the very end and a little beyond, and I'll touch on Far Harbor more than a bit, but I have my own twists planned for several quests, some important for the story, others just for fun. Multiple factions are involved, nothing's black or white. I'll even borrow a few characters from Fallout 3 for 'Earth'.
> 
> The main pairing in this is Danse/Winter, but the relationship won't start early on. I apologize in advance but I need to lay some groundwork first. I tagged 'Slow Burn'/'Slow Build' for a reason.
> 
> The Spouse pairing in not coincidental either. Even though Nate IS dead, I want to show his character, how he fell in love with Winter and a few other pre-war things they went through together. I have about fifteen different scenes in mind already. This is not the main pairing, but it deserves a remark of its own. (Not to mention two different pre-war AUs I cannot find the time to work on!)


End file.
